After The Birthday Present
by Voyager Tip
Summary: Under Mark's watchful care, the judge gains back his strength and they help each other deal with the traumatic events of the near and distant past. Contains some references to Mark's childhood.
1. Coming Home

Chapter 1 Coming Home

"I don't need that you know," Hardcastle said to McCormick as Mark pulled the car door open and placed the walker within easy reach.

"Humor me judge, at least until we get inside," Mark answered firmly.

He watched as Hardcastle eased himself slowly out of the truck and closed the door. Then reluctantly, he took hold of the walker and started for the front steps.

"I'm fine, you can see that," he said.

"I know, just humor me," Mark repeated.

"This is for people who can't walk, my legs are fine you know."

"I know."

Hardcastle paused at the bottom of the steps to catch his breath. They looked like more of a challenge than he had anticipated. One thing he hadn't counted on was how weak he felt after 3 weeks in the hospital. "Can't even use it on the stairs," he complained as he handed the walker to McCormick.

Mark pulled the walker away and handed him a cane. "Rest for as long as you need to."

They stood quietly for a moment and Hardcastle looked around. "It feels good to be outside."

Mark smiled, "yeah, you've been inside for too long."

The judge nodded and started up the steps slowly. Mark walked beside him, ready to lend a hand, but he seemed to be doing fine. Once at the top, Mark unlocked the door and held it open.

Milt Hardcastle liked to think he didn't surprise easily. That he could anticipate things before they happened because of his work as a cop and a judge. He had seen a lot of life, had even fought in a war. But once he was through the doorway and inside the house, he was unprepared for how suddenly weak he felt. He was grateful for the walker Mark put in front of him and saw the chair just inside the door as a Godsend. He sat down, breathing hard, Mark's grip on his arm like a vice.

"Just sit and rest," Mark's voice cut into his fuzzy thoughts.

He might have fallen if Mark hadn't been there. The realization was a shock. And who had put a chair right inside the door? The ache in his chest flared up and he reached up and rubbed it.

"You okay?" Mark asked worriedly after a few moments.

"Course I'm okay!" Hardcastle groused, and tried to stand up again.

"Oh no you don't! Rests are at least 5 minutes. Nurse's orders."

"What? Is that what you've been talking to the nurses about the past few days? Trying to get some rules to run my life by?"

"You got it judge, and you have to follow them or I'll take you back to the hospital, I swear," Mark answered firmly.

"I thought you were trying to get a date with one of em."

Mark chuckled, "Well, some of that too. A guy's gotta take his opportunities as they come up you know."

"Can I get up now?" Hardcastle growled.

Mark reached down for his pulse.

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Be quiet so I can count."

Hardcastle rolled his eyes and shook his head. But, though he'd never tell McCormick, he was grateful for the help and touched by Mark's concern, especially at the moment when his recent weakness was foremost in his mind.

"Okay, next stop is the back bedroom," Mark ordered and the judge stood up and made his way as he was told.

He settled himself on the bed without help and closed his eyes, surprised by how tired he felt from the exertion of the ride home and walking into the house. He felt a blanket covering him and knew McCormick was at it again but he was too tired to yell at him. He appreciated the blanket, but he let the kid think he had fallen asleep already so he didn't have to acknowledge it and say thank you.

As he lay quietly, Milt reflected that his recovery was going to be a strange reversal of roles. Suddenly McCormick was in charge, and with him feeling so weak, really, Mark could do whatever he wanted and Milt would either never know, or not be able to stop him. It was a good thing he trusted the ex con. So many of his friends had told him to hire someone to stay with him or go into a rehab hospital for a short stay. They thought McCormick would take advantage of the situation and either rob him blind or ignore him to make him pay for sending him to prison 4 years ago. They didn't seem to realize he'd had a key to the house practically since the beginning and he had somehow changed from the ex con who hated him into a friend. He'd tried to tell anyone who would listen that Mark McCormick would never do any of those things, but most people had told him he was a crazy old fool.

H&M

Mark spread the blanket over the judge, glad he had pumped the discharge nurse for as much information as he could get. It was she who had suggested placing a chair just inside the door for when they first arrived home, and that chair had really helped. He would also be putting some chairs in different places around the house in case the judge suddenly felt weak while he was moving around. Karen had told him that people like Hardcastle would tend to push themselves and needed to be protected from over exertion. A few strategically placed chairs could give him places to rest without drawing any extra attention to the fact that he might have miscalculated what he was strong enough to do.

Mark walked into the kitchen to start making lunch and again glanced at the discharge instructions and his notes. Things were going according to plan so far. The first day would be the hardest, and every day after that would be a bit easier. His goal right now was just to get through the first day.

H&M

"Lunch's ready," Mark announced as he re-entered the back room. The judge was already sitting on the side of the bed.

"That part of the plan too?" he asked, motioning to the roll away bed against the far wall.

"Just following orders judge, like you are," Mark returned evenly. When the judge just gave a "hmph" and stood up, Mark smiled to himself. This had been what he'd been worried about most. He was glad the judge seemed to accept the new rules with some grace. It made it so much easier.

Mark slid the walker in front of him and Milt sighed as he took it.

"It won't be like this for long, so don't get any ideas about slacking off on your chores to hover over me all day."

"I'm not gonna slack off on anything, as long as you follow the rules judge."

"We'll see," Milt answered as he started for the kitchen.

H&M

Milton C. Hardcastle finished the meal and sat back contentedly. He hadn't eaten that much at any meal during his entire hospital stay. He watched Mark gather the dishes and bring them to the sink. Who would have ever thought that the ex con he'd hired to do his yard work and help him catch criminals would have turned out to be such an amazing person. The first time he'd been in his court, the kid had been angry, hostile even. The second time he hadn't seemed quite so angry, but angry nevertheless. Milt had thought that Mark hated him, and maybe he had in the beginning. But, never in a million years would he have predicted that 18 months later, Mark would want to be waiting on him, hand and foot, and willingly doing dishes or anything else that needed doing. He'd said right up front that they weren't supposed to be buddies when they began their partnership. But, against all odds, they had become friends, best friends even, maybe even like family, though none of these sentiments had ever been expressed out loud.

"I'll be in the den," Hardcastle said as he started to rise.

Mark turn away from the sink to watch him stand, then followed him out into the hall and the den.

"Are you going to follow me around from now on?" Hardcastle said, annoyed.

"Yep."

Once he was settled behind his desk he spoke again, "okay, I'm sitting down now, so you can go back to the dishes."

Mark picked up a bell from the corner of the desk and put it down in front of the judge.

"What is this?" Hardcastle bellowed.

"Ring it if you want to get up or if you want me for anything."

Silence.

"McCormick, this is ridiculous."

"Just one of the rules judge, remember, we're both following the rules," Mark answered.

Milt rolled his eyes and shook his head. This would get old very fast.

"You can't expect me to ring a bell every time I move."

"Hey, I'm just trying to get through the first day out of the hospital judge, just like you. Now I'm gonna do the dishes and clean up a little."

Hardcastle made a sound that sounded like a growl.

"I expect you to use that bell," McCormick said over his shoulder on the way out of the den.


	2. The Mail

H&M Chapter 2 The Mail

Milt Hardcastle stared at his desktop. McCormick had put the mail in two piles, junk mail, which he'd be throwing away, and mail without a deadline associated with it, which he needed to look at. McCormick had already brought any important mail to the hospital for him to see, and had helped him pay a few bills that couldn't wait.

As he sat there, he realized again, what a tremendous help Mark had been to him. Not only were all the bills paid up, but Milt had needed to feel in control of something, and instinctively, Mark had known that he would want to pay his bills himself. Actually, all he did was sign the checks, McCormick had written them out for him and sealed the envelopes, put the stamps on and mailed them, but he'd managed to make the judge feel like he was in control.

H&M

Mark rinsed the dishes and filled the dishwasher, then wiped down the table, all the while keeping one ear tuned toward the den. He glanced down at his notes and smiled, the first day home was going okay. The judge could look at his mail, that would give him something to do that didn't involve walking around, but in his condition, it was exertion enough. He would do his best to make sure his friend got the right amount of exercise.

H&M

"How about a walk out to the patio?" Mark suggested as he entered the den in mid afternoon.

Milt looked up and smiled broadly, "now you're cookin!"

They moved slowly out the back door and Milt settled himself at the table next to the pool.

After Mark made sure he was settled, he turned and started to skim the water. He'd planned several odd jobs, that could be done where the judge could 'supervise' and he could keep an eye on him.

"That hedge needs cutting back, how did it get so overgrown!" Milt asked in exasperation as he pointed to a bush a few yards away.

"Guess you weren't here to tell me to do it," McCormick answered.

"Well, you'd better get the trimmers and do it then."

Mark immediately went to fetch the trimmers, smiling as he went. When he returned, he carried a tray of plants with several buds present on each stem.

"What do ya have there?"

"Not sure."

"You don't know what you bought?" Milt asked, trying to hide a smile. The kid was always cracking him up.

"The label fell off and the nursery wasn't sure what they were. That's why they were so cheap. That's what you have to get on pauper's wages. I figure we'll find out when they bloom."

"What if the color doesn't blend in with the rest of the landscape?" Milt asked, unable to resist teasing Mark.

McCormick smiled as he knelt down and stuck a trowel in the ground to prepare a place for the new flowers. "It won't bother me judge," he said.

_Me either_, thought Hardcastle, but all he did was make a grunting sound in response.

Mark kept an eye on the judge as he worked. After about an hour, he thought he saw a change in expression and immediately got up and moved the walker in front of his friend.

"How 'bout we call it quits for now judge," he said as he helped him stand and then walk inside. The fact that Hardcastle didn't argue, or even say anything during the walk convinced Mark that their next stop was the back bedroom again. Sure enough, as soon as they got to the bed, Hardcastle sat down and reached for the bottle of pain pills Mark had left on the bedside table. Mark poured him a glass of water and watched him swallow the medicine, then, helped him get his legs up on the bed.

"Thanks kiddo," Hardcastle whispered and closed his eyes. Mark covered the judge again and watched him close his eyes. He stood there for a good 5 minutes, thinking about how lucky he was that Hardcastle had beat the odds and made it through the ordeal of being shot in the chest. He didn't need to be thanked for anything, he would gladly trade places with the judge if he could. He hadn't deserved what happened to him.

Mark knew the judge's friends had told him to hire a caregiver to be with him when he was released from the hospital. He also knew that some of them had told him to go to a rehab hospital. No one thought that Mark McCormick would want to take care of him. No one but the judge. When the judge had asked him if he'd mind staying with him after discharge, Mark had been very moved, and even flattered that the judge thought of him that way. Hardcastle had thought it would be too big an imposition, and made it clear that he didn't expect Mark to agree, that he wouldn't hold it against him if he didn't want to do it and that he'd pay him extra if he did. But Mark had declined the extra pay whe he agreed, because, truth be told, he wanted to be there for the judge, he needed to make sure he was okay. And given Hardcastle's disposition, he felt he was the only one who could make the judge do what he was supposed to do, and stay within his restrictions.

At 6 pm, Mark knocked on the door and poked his head into the back room. Hardcastle was sitting in a chair beside the bed.

"How long have you been up?"

"Not long."

"I'm supposed to be with you when you move around."

"I'm 10 inches from the bed McCormick, get a grip!"

Mark thought about that, then shrugged. Hardcastle was probably right, still it was hard not to worry. "Okay, make sure I'm there for longer trips, okay?"

Milt sighed as he stood up and took hold of the walker.

H&M

Mark watched Hardcastle eat every scrap of food on his plate with a smile. He'd eaten such a good lunch that Mark hadn't expected him to eat much for supper. "Your appetitite's still good," he remarked.

"Yeah, well that hospital food's tough to get down. This was great," Milt answered as he sat back with a contented sigh.

"What're ya thinking about doing tonight?" Mark asked.

Silence.

"I think I'll just look at the mail for a while and then turn in early."

H&M

Back in the den, Milt picked up a large envelope with an official looking seal. The return address was the New Jersey Department of Social Service. Odd things tended to find him as they filtered their way through the complex legal system, but this one had piqued his interest, he hadn't requested any files recently, and Social Services was an unusual department to be sending him records.

There was a letter on official stationery from the New Jersey Office of Social Services. It said the records were being sent because of the parole of Edward Jenkins, and Hardcastle's name had appeared on the computer printout as the custodian of the records.

Milt shook his head at the bureaucracy, it was amazing that anything ever got done. These records were 20 years old. He had no memory of anyone named Edward Jenkins, but was confident that it would come back to him if he read the file. His curiosity piqued, he put the letter aside and started to read the crime scene report on the top of the stack.

His brief glance gave him all the information he needed. It was a murder scene, domestic violence. The husband battered the wife repeatedly with a heavy object, probably a frying pan filled with hot grease. The woman had been lying on the floor, dead when the police arrived, and the husband calmly sipping a beer as he answered the door when the police knocked.

A neighbor had called, alerted to the possible tragedy by the child who lived with them, a nephew.

Hardcastle cringed as he thought about any kid growing up in that kind of situation. He glanced at the disposition of the case, the husband had been tried and convicted of manslaughter, and sentenced to 20 years in prison and apparently now out on parole. The child had been placed in foster care.

The doorbell interrupted his concentration.

"I'll get it," McCormick said as he hurried past the den.

"You don't have to run, I wasn't going to get it," Hardcastle huffed, shaking his head. He glanced to his right, noting that the window was open a bit, he could probably hear what was going on from the comfort of his desk, without even getting up, he thought.


	3. Judge Gault

H&M Chapter 3 Judge Gault

Mark pulled the door open and stared at judge Gault in surprise. In all the time he'd been here, Gault had never once come to the house.

"Hi judge," McCormick greeted him, a memory of their last meeting flashed before his eyes, one where he'd been handcuffed on Gault's order.

"I heard Milt was…" Gault suddenly sneezed and reached for a handkerchief in his pocket, "home from the hospital. I'd like to see him."

Mark stood in the doorway uncertainly, then walked out onto the front stoop and pulled the door closed behind him. He stared at Gault's red eyes as he finished wiping his nose.

"Yeah, he is home, but I don't think you should see him."

Back in the den, Hardcastle turned his ear toward the partially open window when he heard this so he could better focus on the conversation.

"Why not? What's going on in there McCormick?"

"Nothings going on, Judge Gault," McCormick adopted more formal language to mask his hostility.

"Then why can't I see him?"

"Why do you want to see him?"

"That's none of your business. If you won't let me in, I'll just go in anyway."

"Listen judge, you've obviously got a pretty bad cold, and he got shot in the chest. He doesn't need to be coughing and sneezing right now, so can't you call him?"

"Now you look here McCormick, I will not give him this cold. This is ridiculous! I demand you let me in!"

Mark shook his head, "sorry judge, but I can't risk it."

"I'm gonna find out what you're doing to him in there if I have to force my way in," he blustered and Mark watched him make a fist with his right hand.

"If you think you can attack me and get inside, there's something you really need to know first!" Mark yelled. That stopped Gault mid way to the door and made him pause.

"What's that?" he asked through clenched teeth. God, how he disliked this ex con.

"I won't fight back," McCormick said evenly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you'll have to punch me out to get by me, and when the police come, it won't be a fight they'll be investigating, it'll be assault and battery, and I'm gonna press charges."

Hardcastle smiled and shook his head during the silence that followed.

"I won't make him sick, I just want to make sure you're treating him right."

"Call him on the phone, send someone else, but I'm telling you, I'll press charges if you go in there, because the only way that's gonna happen is if you take me out."

Gault stood fuming for several seconds. "We'll see about this!" he muttered angrily as he turned and left.

_"Yeah, I bet you will,"_ Mark thought as he smiled to himself and stepped back inside.


	4. Back to the Mail

Chapter 4 Back to the Mail

Milt Hardcastle chuckled to himself as he watched Gault leave through the side window. The scene he'd just witnessed was priceless. He'd never cared for John Gault. Gault was a silver spooner, someone born to wealth and privilege, and had always rubbed Milt the wrong way. He had mocked him just a little, each time he had taken in an ex con, and reveled in the failure that was J.J. Beale. From the first, he had made it clear that he didn't trust McCormick. Milt knew that he was here simply to try to prove that he'd been right. He didn't care about Hardcastle, he just wanted to prove that McCormick was taking advantage of him. And McCormick's reaction to Gault's cold symptoms was priceless.

"Ready for a snack?" Mark said as he walked back into the den.

"Who was at the door?" Hardcastle asked innocently.

"Judge Gault."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to see you to prove to himself that I wasn't mistreating you," Mark answered honestly.

"So why didn't you let him in?"

"He had a cold so I convinced him to call you or send someone else to check."

Milt was astonished to hear Mark's honest answers, though as he thought about it, there wasn't any reason Mark should keep this from him.

"He accepted that?"

"Sure."

"Without an argument?"

Mark glanced around the room before his eyes locked on the judges. Why did it seem that Hardcastle knew everything? "Well," Mark began as he reached up to rub his neck, "let's just say he wasn't happy about it."

Hardcastle nodded his understanding, "so what about that snack?"

H&M

They enjoyed their usual snack of popcorn and Mark found a John Wayne movie that began at 8 o'clock. During the ending credits at 10 o'clock, the judge finally spoke.

"I think I'll hit the sack."

Instantly Mark was up, and placing the walker in front of him. He expected the judge to complain, but he took hold of it quietly and made his way to the back bedroom. Mark had been warned that the end of the day would be the most dangerous, because the judge would be the most tired. He was grateful that the judge didn't argue about the need for the walker, and kept an especially close eye on him until he was safely in bed.

"First day done," McCormick thought to himself, "now we just have to get through the first night."

But, in spite of the warnings of the nurses, the night was peaceful, with both of them getting some much needed rest.

When McCormick awoke, he realized how deeply and how long he'd slept and felt guilty, but then he realized that the judge had done the same thing. They both awoke well rested and ready for day 2.

H&M

After breakfast, Hardcastle read the morning paper and then went back to the mail on his desk. Mark cooked and cleaned up, keeping an eye on the judge, but even he had to admit the old guy was doing great. He refused to use the walker again, but his gait was so steady that he didn't seem to need it, he seemed full of strength. Mark would keep it around for later in the day, but for right now, Milton Hardcastle looked almost as well as he had before the shooting. In order to stay close, Mark puttered around inside the house, cleaning and doing a few minor repairs that had been on his list for some time. The second day seemed to be going fine.

H&M

Hardcastle reviewed the crime scene report from New Jersey once more before he placed it aside. He sighed and turned to the next page in the thick stack of papers, wondering why the officials in New Jersey would think he should have this information.

The second page was a Department of Protective Services Admission Form. His eyes fell on the name of the child and he suddenly felt ill, dizzy for a moment. The reaction shocked him. He had decades of experience seeing children mistreated and coming through the court system. All those cases brought anger, but none brought this kind of reaction. He recovered himself and sat taking some slow deep breaths as he forced himself to look at the record. The child was Mark McCormick, age 12, orphaned at age 11 and living with his aunt and uncle for the past year.

Hardcastle put the paper down. Did he have a right to see this? Legally, yes, he had a right to access all information about McCormick because he was in his judicial stay. They had sent it to him, it was definitely legal… but was it right? The kid had been with him for the past year and a half and they had become a great crime-fighting team. He even thought of McCormick as a friend, more than a friend, though he had never told him as much.

Milt closed the file, determined not to open it until he could sort out his thoughts.

H&M

"Hey judge, lunch is ready!" McCormick's voice came from the door, startling Milt, causing him to drop the file onto the desktop.

McCormick hesitated, "what's wrong judge?" Mark's voice was filled with more concern than he had intended to show, so he backpedaled. "You look like you just saw a ghost or something."

"Nothing's wrong except that you think you can just sneak in here and surprise me like that. Didn't you ever learn any manners when you were a kid?" Hardcastle cringed, realizing he had subconsciously referenced Mark's childhood. His next remark was meant to divert attention away from that, "lucky I didn't shoot you!" It came out gruffly, to cover up his emotions.

McCormick's expression froze for an instant, but then he shook his head with half a grin. "I'll never understand you Hardcase. Come on, what're you waiting for, lunch is ready," and he waited to watch Milt stand with the cane and start toward the kitchen. He was walking better than ever.

H&M

Hardcastle had never mentioned Mark's childhood before. The casual remark brought back a lot of memories. They were both quiet as they ate their lunch. McCormick trying to set aside his childhood memories so he could continue to focu on the judge, and Hardcastle wondering if he should read Mark's file without his knowledge. After a short time, Mark tried to make conversation, but the judge just sat quietly and ate.

"What's wrong with you judge?"

"Nothing."

"Why aren't you talking to me?"

"I don't have anything to say."

"The last time you stopped talking and arguing you ended up with bronchitis. It almost landed you in the hospital. We need to be careful, especially now th..."

"It's nothing like that!" Milt snapped, interrupting him. Then he sighed, it was the second time he'd yelled at the kid for being nice to him. He suddenly wondered what Mark must think of his behavior. That he was a donkey, no doubt. The truth was, he'd been thinking. And he found a question nagging at his mind that just wouldn't be pushed aside. How could a child living in such circumstances grow up to be so…. likable?


	5. Uncle Ed & Aunt Kate

H&M Ch 5 Uncle Ed and Aunt Kate

By the time they finished the meal, Hardcastle had made a decision.

"You remember seeing that big file from New Jersey, kiddo?"

"Uh huh," Mark answered as he began to stack the dishes.

"It was sent to me because a man named Edward Jenkins was just paroled."

Hardcastle stopped there, to see if the name would have an effect.

Immediately, the blood seemed to drain from Mark's face. He looked like he might pass out. Hardcastle reached across the table and grabbed his wrist tightly, "put your head down on the table kiddo, I don't need to see you on the floor."

"Sorry," Mark whispered, lifting his other hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "I'm okay now," Mark whispered but Milt could feel his hand shaking beneath his grip.

"What did he do to you?" Milt asked softly.

Mark seemed to recover, he sat up straight and smiled, "it doesn't matter judge, past history."

"I'd really like to know kiddo," Hardcastle said, letting go of Mark's wrist.

A long silence followed.

"He's out on parole now?" Mark asked.

"He is."

"Too bad my Aunt Kate can't be out on parole too, but you can't be paroled from death!" his voice was harsh and full of hatred, so uncharacteristic of Mark McCormick that Milt almost didn't recognize him.

Hardcastle let the silence continue until Mark spoke again.

"Is he sober?"

Milt shook his head, "I don't know."

Mark leaned back in the chair and stared straight ahead.

"So, when someone gets out on parole, anyone involved in their case gets notified?" Mark asked.

"If there was violence, yes."

Mark shook his head and spoke softly, "there sure was violence."

"What happened?"

Mark stared off into space in a near trance and began to speak in a soft voice.

"I remember it so clearly. I was up in my room, and he started yelling for me to come down for supper. I remember thinking I had 3 options, and trying to figure out which would get me hit the least number of times. I still had a sore arm from the weekend and my ribs had been hurting since before Christmas. He yelled again and I decided I would make a run for the front door. I could outrun him, and maybe he'd be passed out by the time I came back to the house. So I started down the stairs, running fast, but as I got to the bottom, I heard my aunt scream and then gag, like someone was choking her. I had to stop and look, it sounded like he was killing her, and I think he was. So I tackled him and she fell to the floor, and I could hear her breathing so I thought she was okay. I squirmed and twisted and he lost his grip on me, but before I could get away, he grabbed my foot and squeezed it… hard." Mark suddenly got up and headed to the hall, and Milt heard the bathroom door close.

Hardcastle sat still, stunned by the picture in his mind. He stood up and walked to the hallway and paused, he could hear Mark throwing up in the bathroom. Suddenly it all seemed like too much and he sat down in one of the chairs he noticed Mark had placed throughout the house. He shook his head. All this emotion, bottled up for so many years seemed unreal.

Mark opened the door and saw him on the chair.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine, I'm not the one who was sick just now."

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

Mark looked around awkwardly.

"Come on into the den, the chairs are more comfortable," Hardcastle said as he stood and motioned for Mark to follow him.

Once they were sitting, Hardcastle asked in a quiet voice.

"What happened next?"

"Judge, this is only your second day home from the hospital, I don't think I should say any more."

"You saying I'm not well enough to even listen? That's ridiculous! I'll go out for a jog if you don't tell me what happened next."

"But it's not important, you need to rest, that's what's important."

"What happened next… please."

Mark sighed. "I got away and ran next door. At first they didn't answer, but I kept banging on the door...I was scared he'd come after me, but they finally answered and I told them I thought my uncle was gonna kill my aunt. After they called the police, they were just standing around talking about how horrible my uncle was, and I just went outside and started to run. I ran to a park up the street and that's when I realized how much my foot hurt."

He sighed again, and glanced at Hardcastle to make sure he was okay. "So I stayed there until dark and then went back. There were police cars and lights flashing. All I wanted to do was lay down and rest my foot. So I started for the front door and that's when the cops got me. They took me to the hospital and they operated on my foot, it was broken and I'd been running on it. Don't know why it didn't hurt at first, guess I was in shock and didn't notice." He paused for a long time. "After a few days a social worker took me to a foster home." He laughed a cynical laugh, "the first of many."

"I'm sorry Mark."

The silence following that remark seemed to give the words weight, as did the use of his first name.

"Well, it's in the past."

"No child should have to go through something like that."

More silence.

"I haven't thought about that in a very long time."

"Did a social worker place you with your aunt and uncle?" Hardcastle asked.

Mark nodded.

"Didn't they realize he was an alcoholic?"

"My aunt was a blood relation, that's all they cared about."

The doorbell interrupted the conversation and Mark jumped up to get it as Milt sighed.


	6. Arrested

H&M Chapter 6 Arrested

Two police officers at the door greeted Mark.

"Mr. McCormick?"

"Yes."

"I have a warrant for your arrest sir."

McCormick's jaw dropped and he stammered, "uh, come in," and he held the door and motioned them into the hall and then the den.

As they filed into the den, Hardcastle looked up.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Judge, I have a warrant for Mr. McCormick's arrest," one of the officers began, taking a pair of handcuffs off his belt and taking a step toward Mark.

"Hold it right there!" Hardcastle bellowed.

"Judge, calm down," McCormick whispered worriedly.

"On who's authority?" Hardcastle asked.

"Judge Gault's."

"What's the charge?"

"Interfering with an Officer of the Court, domestic violence, kidnapping, assault, and probation violation," the officer read off the paper in his hand.

"I didn't do anything," Mark said in a shocked voice as they started to read him his Miranda rights.

"You can't lock me up… judge, who can you call to stay with you tonight?"

Through his sudden panic he could hear the familiar phrase, "you have the right to remain silent..."

"Don't leave here," Hardcastle commanded the officers as he picked up the phone. "We'll see what Frank Harper has to say about this," and he dialed the phone and spoke to the detective.

The two officers glanced at each other, and the one who had cuffed McCormick smiled briefly.

"He's worried about who can stay with him tonight," he whispered to the other officer.

"Oh all right," his partner said resignedly with a shake of his head. He took out his wallet and removed a bill and handed it to the first officer, who accepted it and then turned to unlock the cuffs on McCormick.

"You had a bet on this?" Mark said in astonishment.

"Sorry, we're obligated to investigate the warrant," the officer apologized as he unlocked the cuffs. "I've seen you two in action and I never thought it would hold, seemed like easy money," he said with a smile. Then he turned to Hardcastle, "We just need to hear it from Frank Harper sir."

Mark shook his head in disbelief as Milt handed him the phone and watched as the officer listened to instructions from Frank.

"I'll lodge a complaint against Gault for this one," Hardcastle swore.

"Just take it easy judge, there's plenty of time after you recover to…"

"I'm recovered McCormick, God, he just tried to have you arrested, for kidnapping me! Aren't you mad? I sure as hell am!"

"As long as you don't blow a gasket, I'm fine judge, now take it easy, will ya? I don't wanna ever see that hospital again!"

In the silence that followed, Hardcastle sat down and took a deep breath.

Mark continued, "you officers are welcome to stay and make sure you are convinced that I'm not doing anything to hurt the judge."

"No thanks, we can leave now," the officer explained. "Sorry for the stress, we're just doing our job. Not our fault if an idiot issued the warrant."

Mark nodded, then shook his head. After they were gone, Mark sat down tiredly. "What is it with Gault anyway? Is it so hard to believe that I actually care about you? I mean, come on, we've been working together for over a year, almost two!" Mark said loudly.

"He's never liked me, and he's always gone out of his way to tell me how stupid he thinks it is to have an ex con living with me. You shoulda seen him gloating after what happened with J.J. Beale."

"Why did you do it again after what Beale did?" Mark asked. It was something he'd always wondered about.

Hardcastle sighed, "probably because I'm stubborn as hell and I really just wanted to tackle my files." He paused, "and, maybe I thought you were worth it."

"I'm really glad you did judge."

They sat together in silence and McCormick saw the judge reach up to rub his chest again as he changed position slightly and grunted.

"How long since you've had something for pain judge?"

"Maybe I could take something now," Hardcastle mentioned softly.

Mark was out of the chair in an instant and quickly back with the medicine bottle and a glass of water. He put the glass down and opened the bottle as he handed it to Hardcastle. Then, he sat back in the chair, ready to wait as long as it took for his friend to get some relief from the pain.

Hardcastle hated the fact that he needed McCormick to fetch the medicine, and told himself he could have managed on his own. He definitely could have walked back to the bedroom and taken the pills there, but he also couldn't deny the warm, homey feeling he got from McCormick's efforts. The kid really did care about him, and it was right out there for the world to see. Though no one was here but him at the moment, Milt knew that Mark's actions would've been the same if there were a room full of people. It made him feel good, it was as simple as that, and that was probably the most powerful medicine he could have. The cops who were here a short time ago heard it and saw it. And they'd obviously noticed something in the past, because they hadn't been surprised when Mark was more concerned about who could stay with him for the night, than for his own welfare. And they'd actually made a $20 bet that Hardcastle wouldn't let the kid be taken away.

After a few minutes, the judge breathed a bit easier and settled back into his desk chair.

"That's better, what else can I get for you?" Mark asked.

Milt picked up the file on his desk and looked at it. "This is the crime scene report. Your uncle was 6 foot 3, and 255 pounds. I'm guessing your foot was pretty badly injured."

"Aw judge, why do you wanna know all this?"

"I suppose it has something to do with a question that's got me thinking."

Mark didn't want to ask, and he was surprised when he realized he had spoken, "what question is that?"

"How did you get from there…. to here?"

"What do you mean? Time went by."

"What I mean wiseguy, is, how do you get from being a kid in a horrible situation like that, to being… the kind of person you are now?"

Mark sighed, "like I said judge, time went by."

"No way kiddo. Somebody helped you. Was it one of the social workers? or a foster parent?"

"You'd like the system to work that way, wouldn't you!" McCormick yelled as he stood up and began to pace. "I'll tell you about foster care judge, my first foster parents were stealing the money that was supposed to go to the kids. They were arrested 9 months after I landed there." He was pacing around the den like a caged animal now. "You want to know about the social workers judge? They never even asked me what happened to my…" he stopped and took a breath to try to calm the lump in his throat.

"Your mother?" Hardcastle said quietly, and McCormick nodded.

"Then how did you deal with it all?"

Mark turned to face his friend, "I'm sorry judge, here I am yelling at you and none of this is your fault. You need to be taking it easy, not listening to me yell at you."

"I don't care if you yell… just be honest… I want to know how you managed to deal with it all, because, if you hadn't, you couldn't possibly be the person you are now."


	7. Bobby

H&M Chapter 7 Bobby

"It was Bobby," McCormick said simply, as if that explained it all.

"Who was he?"

Mark sat down and began the story.

"Bobby Gibson. He shared a room with me in that first foster home. He…"

Milt didn't interrupt the silence, knowing that Mark would continue when he was ready.

Mark smiled, "this is gonna sound really weird, but, Bobby hugged me every day. As soon as I'd get home from school. As soon as he'd see me. I tried to stay away from him. I pushed him away at first, but he'd still insist on giving me a hug at least once a day. It was the craziest thing. It was the first time anyone touched me like that since my mom died… it was weird."

He stopped talking again, and this time the silence lasted many minutes. Hardcastle sat and let the time pass.

"But after awhile it just became normal, ya know, and one day I just started to cry and I couldn't seem to stop, and Bobby just kept hugging me and asking me what was wrong. That night I told him about what happened with my mom and my aunt and uncle… even though I knew he couldn't understand most of what I said, I still told him, and it didn't really matter, because what was important was that I said a lot of stuff out loud. I started to understand what had happened. From then on I told him about that stuff every day. He always wanted to listen. After that I just started to feel better."

"So what's the story with this Bobby character? That doesn't sound right kiddo. And why did you say he couldn't understand what you were talking about?" Milt asked, concern in his voice.

"He had Down Syndrome judge. He was 15, but he had the mind of a 5 year old." Mark paused and then continued, "but he was kind to me ya know? And I really needed that. Actually, he was kind to everybody… a little too quick to hug people he barely knew though." Mark smiled and then chuckled, "I tried to teach him not to do that so much, but I wasn't too successful. I was always afraid it would get him beat up some day."

"So what happened to him?"

"I don't know. When they arrested our foster parents, they put us all in separate cars and took us to different places. I was taken to another foster home. I never saw him again."

Again, the silence lasted several minutes.

"That why you always go out of your way to talk to Johnny at the grocery store?"

"Yeah, he kinda reminds me of Bobby."

"Thanks for telling me."

Mark took a deep breath. "Boy, this was some afternoon, I'm exhausted. How are you doing?"

"I just had the pain pill remember? I'm doing fine," Hardcastle answered.

"We're almost through Day 2."

"When does your plan call for me to sleep upstairs in my own bed, hotshot?" Hardcastle's tone was gruff.

McCormick smiled, glad to change the subject and get back on more normal footing. "If the rest of today and tonight go okay, then tomorrow night you can sleep upstairs."

"Oh, they'll go okay, you can mark my words on that, they'll go okay."

Mark frowned, suddenly sorry he'd let that bit of information slip. It seemed the judge would hold him to it now, no matter what. Well, he was feeling pretty satisfied with the judge's progress since he'd been home anyway. The truth was, Milt Hardcastle was gaining back his strength faster than the doctors predicted, but while that was a great thing, Mark still felt worried that he would push himself too hard and suffer a setback.

"Now you go easy, and I'm serious judge. One step at a time, nice steady progress is what I need to see, no overdoing it!"

"You're a worrywart McCormick! Anyone ever tell you that? And it's getting very old, very fast!"

"Worrying is part of caring judge, anyone ever tell you that?" Mark groused back.

"Hmph" Hardcastle grunted. He didn't say any more, but he was taken aback by the response. He shouldn't have been surprised, it was obvious that Mark cared about him, it showed in everything he had done.

"Hey judge?"

"What."

"Can we find out if my uncle is keeping his parole appointments?"

"Sure, but why?"

"Well, he always said that my living with them is what caused him to drink. He didn't wanna take care of a kid, he was always saying how expensive it was and how much trouble I was. I just think he might blame me for what happened."

"You think he might come after you?"

"I don't know."

"Alcoholics always blame other people for their behavior. It's easier than taking the responsibility for it themselves. If he's sober now, he probably realizes that."

"Yeah." There was a long silence. "Can we check anyway?"

"Sure kiddo."


	8. Delayed Reaction

H&M Chap 8 Delayed Reaction

The next night, they slept upstairs, Hardcastle back in his own bed and Mark in the guest room across the hall. Climbing the stairs at the end of the day was a slow process, but they made it without any mishaps. Mark made Hardcastle pause to rest on every third step, and though he complained, the judge had to admit that he had been able to negotiate the staircase with little difficulty using that technique.

Perhaps it was because the judge was doing so well, and Mark's anxiety about his condition was much less, or maybe it was the change in accommodations, but that night, Mark McCormick had a full blown nightmare.

At 3 am, while Milt was returning to bed after taking another pain pill and using the restroom, he heard sounds from Mark's room. Both their doors had been left open at Mark's insistence so he could hear Milt if he had any problems and needed help. But now Milt realized it worked both ways. When he entered Mark's room he found him thrashing around in bed, drenched with sweat.

"No! Don't! Don't make me! God please don't make me!" Mark's agonized cries filled the room.

Hardcastle shook his shoulder hard and shouted, "wake up kiddo, come on, wake up!"

McCormick sat bolt upright, "what? oh God, what did I do," he gasped, breathing hard.

"It's all right, it's all right," repeated the judge, the distress in his voice in contrast to the words he spoke.

Mark was still sitting up straight, "Judge? are you okay? Oh God, I killed him, I …" his loud breaths sounded harsh in the silence.

"You awake now?" Hardcastle asked, squeezing his shoulders.

After a moment, Mark nodded "yeah, thanks." Then he continued, "judge, are you okay? Did I wake you? I'm so sorry."

"No, you didn't wake me. Don't worry about that." Hardcastle sat down on the edge of the bed. "That was some dream."

Mark wiped the sweat from his forehead and pulled off his sweat soaked T-shirt. "Yeah, I think I'll get a dry shirt." He walked to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face before getting the shirt and returning to bed.

"Sounded like you were dreaming about shooting Weed Randel."

"Yeah, I guess," Mark answered as he pulled a fresh shirt over his head.

"This the first time you dreamed about that?"

"Yeah."

"I guess that means you think I'm getting better."

"Huh?" Mark asked as he climbed back on the bed.

"Your brain can only handle so much at any one time, kiddo. You've been at the hospital most of every day and for the past two days you've been so wound up about the rules I had to follow, you haven't had time to digest what happened with Weed. Now that I'm on the mend, your brain is saying it's time to deal with it."

"Huh?"

"You heard me McCormick."

"I thought I was the one who took Psychology 101."

"Just LAPD debriefing policy. Any cop who's ever been in a horrible situation knows the drill. That's why the nightmares can happen at any time after an event."

"Oh." Another pause, "I don't suppose you can tell me how to stop it from happening again."

"There's only one way, and that's to talk about it."

Mark shook his head, "I don't know judge."

"Do it for me kiddo, I can't get back to sleep until this medicine kicks in anyway, and you probably don't want to go back to sleep right now either. Why don't you tell me what happened."

"You know what happened Judge."

"But not from you. And you're the only one that really matters kiddo."

Mark watched the judge as he settled himself on the foot of the bed ready to listen. How did he ever get so lucky? To be able to know and learn from this great man, sometimes still seemed to good to be true. Here he was, a nobody, and Hardcastle, a judge, really cared about him. Aside from his mother, he'd never had anyone care this much about him. Maybe he could talk about it, with this special person anyway. Maybe it would help both of them. He crossed his legs, indian style, and began to speak.

The End


End file.
